


The Perfect Thief

by AllINeedIsALittleFelix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:35:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllINeedIsALittleFelix/pseuds/AllINeedIsALittleFelix
Summary: AU. Sherlock is a thief. Mycroft wants to catch him. John has a very specific skill set. Sherlock is not evil, I promise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a plot in mind.  
> Sherlock is not evil.  
> Sorry for the bad summary.

We begin on a mid-December day at a valley enclosed by frosty, huge mountains. One of the cruelest places on Earth for a human to put foot in. Everything here is white, dull and sure to kill a human. The only advantage was that you could spot an enemy mile away, on this isolated, man-eating valley. A snow desert.

The guard was anxious – droplets of sweat had accumulated on his forehead despite the snow surrounding them. His stance was that of a tiger – ready to leap at a moment's noticed. His eyes scanned the area with an intensity that would put eagles to shame. Anyone could see that he was a man ready to fight. He had plenty of reason to be. Britain relied on him.

Delta Squad. Give me your latest update. Over.

The guard lifts his walkie-talkie and listens intently.

No activity on the outermost zone. Over.

Copy that. Over.

No activity in the innerzone. Over.

Copy that. Over.

Agent Delta, what is your position and how long does he require? Over.

The guard clears his mouth.

Core is secure. No activity spotted. I will ask him now. Over.

Copy that. Over.

The guard went in with all the pride of a lion. His footsteps echoed the almost empty hall like the gong of death. He was clearly not a man that could be trifled with. He walks slowly, each step being taken with great caution and utmost care.

He sees the wrinkled mess of a man hunched up, working with the pride of Britain. The man does not even look up. The old man's face is contorted with concentration, his hands moving with precision. His hands are wrinkled too, but they never falter. There are only two things in the old man's world: Him and the diamond. The man was looking at the diamond as a mother would look at her child. Each stroke the man made to the diamond was like a dagger through the Agent's heart. One wrong stroke and the symbol of Britain would be forever lost. The agent approaches him and asks:

"How long?"

"One hour" the old man croaks.

The Agent nods. He pulls out his walkie-talkie and leaves the hall.

Agent Delta reporting. He needs one more hour. Over.

Copy that. Over.

Inside, the old man looks up. The old man looks no longer older. His hunchback is gone. His eyes sparkle with a radiance that comes with genius. Agent Delta's footsteps might echo like the gong of death, but the old man was Satan.

"Fools. Treachery comes from within" the man whispered, no longer croaking.

~**~~

Britain was in uproar.

The immediate conclusion is that Mycroft's office was in uproar as well.

That morning:

"Sir, the Prime Minister is waiting for you" Anthea said, typing frantically on her Blackberry. She had been a rock for Mycroft.

"Yes, send him in. Stay as well. You have a right to know as to what's happening"

It was a tactic on Mycroft's part. He knew that Anthea was angry because Mycroft didn't trust her. The only way to win a servant's loyalty was to let them believe that you trust them.

She nods, undoubtedly pleased. The Prime Minister enters. Mycroft tries not to deduce anything about him. His needed his brain power for the issue in hand.

"How is this the first time I am hearing of him? After all he has done…" the Minister asks, flustered.

"All the robberies have been small. Big enough to lift our eyebrows but small enough to be unworthy of a second glance since the robberies were committed in other countries. We do not trifle with other countries." Mycroft replies, for the twelfth time today. He passes on the file to Anthea and the Minister.

"How do we know it is the same person?" the Minister asks, not even sparing a look into the file.

"He likes to leave…his signature. An alphabet made of iron. The letter S" Mycroft replies.

"So, basically we are looking for a thief. He has quite a track record. But, why now? What did he steal to capture your attention?" Anthea asked, glancing through the file.

"The Kohinoor Diamond"

~**~~

After that tedious meeting with the Minister, who only got redder and redder after each sentence Mycroft spoke, Mycroft met tons of other people, all of them demanding as to what he was doing in regards to the case. This wouldn't do.

He dials a number on his phone.

"John. Come back to London. I have a case for you"

Legwork never really had been his area.

"So, you are telling me, an ordinary thief, a single person, got through your security system? A system that included Agent Delta?" John said, his face full of glee.

"Will you come then? I must remind you, right now we only need you in an advisory capacity" Mycroft says, ignoring the jab.

"Let's see. A Crown Jewel stolen under your nose. A thief daring enough to get through you AND sign his every robbery. I wouldn't have missed it for the worlds!"

~**~~

Christmas found Mycroft, John and Agent Delta in Mycroft's office, discussing last minute tactics and going through THE PLAN. Needless to say, no one was in a festive mood.

The case was better than John imagined it would be. Frankly, the thief (who had been dubbed Mr. S) had gained John's respect when he stole the diamond. Bypassing Mycroft's security was no piece of cake. Pretending to be the jeweler? Amazing. All of Mycroft's guards were looking outside but not inside.

Mr. S had a curious knack of only robbing things from museums. Treasures that belonged to the government. All the robberies Mr. S committed were neat. Simple. Elegant. No one saw him come. No one saw him go. All that remained was his signature S in the place the artifact once stood. He was seen only once, by a servant who saw him running away. His gender is the only thing they know. John was completely giddy with excitement. It wasn't everyday you meet a rival worthy of your skill set. Of course, John would be put into action only if Plan A failed.

John was actually hoping Plan A would fail. He had a lot of fun deducing about Mr. S these past few days.

Recap:

He put thumbtacks on all the locations of robberies on a map of Europe.

Oslo. First robbery. A lost Vermeer was stolen. Lost again, then.

Ship on the North Sea. Second robbery. A sword was stolen.

Luxembourg. Vienna. Budapest. Belgrade. Rome. Vatican City.

Oh!

When joined, all the dots corresponded to a letter. The letter S.

The frailty of a genius, it needs an audience. He's brilliant enough to want to be in the limelight. He wants attention. He wants a chase. He wants to be caught.

There was only one city left to finish his global signature.

The thief is hitting London next

~**~~

John was not confident that they would catch Mr. S. They secured all known museums in London. Triple security was assigned to museums like the British Museum, Victoria and Albert Museum and the National Gallery. They did now know when Mr. S would strike but they were on constant alert. But, hell, Mr. S got through the Delta Team. John knew it was only a matter of time for Mr. S to strike again and thus launching plan B.

The British Government, on the other hand, had other important issues on his plate. It was in the state of mood, Mycroft received a call from Lestrade.

"He got away" Lestrade said, voice full of anger and disappointment.

"HE WHAT?"

"Yeah"

"Take John. We are launching Plan B."

John hurried to the museum, his heart racing with the pump of adrenaline. It had been so long since John felt this way. Mr. S successfully stole a jade hairpin worth nine million pounds from the Victoria and Albert Museum. Today was a holiday for the museum. How did he get past the security outside?

There it was, on the stand, smirking at John: Mr. S's signature. The metal S.

John immediately muted everything.

Question one: How did he get in?

Oh! Stupid. Anyone could walk in anywhere if they pick the right moment. He must have come in yesterday and hidden inside till today. All the guards were obsessed with not letting anyone in but no guard was inside today. Same repeat of the diamond. Will these people never learn?

Question two: How did he get away once the alarms went off?

John re-imagined the scene, him being the thief. He just pulled the pin out of the stand. The laser surrounding the stand would have set off the alarms as soon as his fingers touched the pin. Now, what? Thirty policemen would surround him in thirty seconds. Where would John hide in this precious thirty seconds? He glances around the room. The room is filled with ceramics, paintings, statues, metalwork, jewelry and lots more. Could he have posed as one of the statues?

Impossible. There were only four statues, all on pedestals. If he were on them, how could he have replaced the original after he ran away? An accomplice? Not likely.

He disguised himself as one of the staff? No, all the staff was dismissed for today.

It strikes him.

No one was in the room when the police came.

No one was seen running on the grounds.

No one out of the ordinary was spotted by the three hundred policemen

Thus: Mr. S was one of the policemen. Or at least, disguised himself as one.

John searched for further clues but found none. His took the metal S from the stand, hoping it would reveal more. It did. Engraved on the other side were the words:

Will strike again. The Blue Carbuncle. Love – Mr. S.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock. First look.

A dark, secluded factory

Mrs. Hudson trembled as she walked through the doors of what once was her husband's finest accomplishment. She could not bear to look at the dark ruins which once had been beacons of light. She moved forward, with a lantern in her hand, trying hard not to relive the days of her past.

It wasn't easy to pretend that it was an ordinary place. It's a place which held more shadows than lights, more memories than humans. Perhaps, that was why the gentleman purchased it from her. She walked on, moving past the grey buildings, occasionally shooing animals which had made their adobe in the old buildings.

She glanced at her watch and frowned. It had been three days since the gentleman had been using the factory. She was used to him using the factory for insanely long periods of time – what she did not understand was that when the man ate and slept. He never brought food and there was no suitable place for him to sleep. Mrs. Hudson had the suspicion that he didn't eat or sleep while working. Not surprising, really. Anyone who had seen him work could see how important his work was to him. He would lose himself in his work – he wouldn't respond, wouldn't look up, wouldn't talk. Once, Mrs. Hudson found that he had set something on fire in another room. The smoke was enough to alarm her – someone who had been standing three blocks away. Yet, when she came in, she found him hunched up, doing his work, completely ignoring the smoke.

Mrs. Hudson shakes her head, thinking fondly of that memory. He wasn't aloof, despite what people thought of him in their first glance. He was a good man, a man who cared. A man who went through a lot. A man who liked a challenge. This, she gathered during the few times he talked to her. She knew that he cared about her. There was one time when an American had broken into the factory, trying to steal some equipment. She had confronted him, but the American tied her up, stole whatever he wanted to and left. The look on his face when he found her tied up was proof enough that he loved her. She didn't know how, but he dragged the American back, made him apologize to her and return everything that he had stolen. He was a son she wished she had.

She went inside, shaking her head at mess the man had managed to make. She made her way through the obstacle race he created. She stopped at the door, trying to decipher his mood. If he was yelling, it meant she shouldn't go in. If he was shooting the walls (no exaggeration), it meant he wanted company. The sound of machinery meant he was working and there would be no use in going inside. He wouldn't notice her. But, he was silent. Silence usually meant deep contemplation. She went in, determined to make him eat something.

He stood as the door opened. The last rays of the day illuminated his pale skin, making him look less human and more god-like. His hands were thin, each finger long and sleek. Capable of handling very delicate equipment yet strong enough incapacitate a man. His legs moved at a slow pace, yet Mrs. Hudson knew that he could run faster than the wind if he wanted to. His hair was ruffled, he had the gift of looking angelic without having to do anything at all. His blue eyes sparkled. He looked like a man who had just made a major decision and was happy about it.

"Mrs. Hudson!" the man looked up, a genuine smile lighting up his face. He hugged her before she could say something. His arms felt strong and secure.

"Oh, Sherlock. How nice to see you happy again" Mrs. Hudson said, smiling too. His happiness was always contagious.

"Mrs. Hudson. After days of indecision, I've finally decided. I don't care!" he practically yelled in joy.

Mrs. Hudson knew better to ask him what he was talking about. Sherlock needed his space. He would tell her in his own time.

"Please lay a table for two tonight. I am bringing a guest" he told her, pulling on his gloves

The man of thought was now replaced by a man of action. He took his cloak and ran out of the building, yelling:

"The game, Mrs. Hudson, is on!"

Plan B was set into motion.

The past few days had been fun, in John's opinion. Of course, Agent Delta was beyond mad that Mr. S got through his security. Again. To Mycroft, Mr. S was a buzzing bee in his ear which had suddenly bitten him. Mycroft did not like defeat. But, of course, the British Government had known that the pin would be stolen.

"Lose the battle to win the war" he had said.

To John, it didn't matter. Admiration was the only thing he felt. He slightly regretted the fact that Mr. S would be handed over to the authorities after all this was over. Shame. What a waste of such talent.

Today was special, though. Officially, he was a wanted thief in three countries from today. He had a sum of five thousand pounds on his head, dead or alive. According to the newspapers, he was called Iron J because he left metal J's every time he stole something. This was the bait Mycroft planted to catch Mr. S. Mycroft was ready, the nets were in place. Today was the beginning of the end.

Of course, thieving wasn't John's skill set. Seduction was.

Evening. Chilly. A day which shows no intention of ending. It speaks of a new beginning.

Meeting.

John was giddy. In an hour or so, he was finally going to meet Mr. S. He surveyed the five storey tower in front of him. The tallest museum in the world. The Blue Carbuncle was on the top of this monstrously high building. John fastened the ropes on his waist, walking towards the entrance. He walked in, through the metal detectors. He smiled when they detectors did not make a racket. All his gear was plastic, thanks to Mycroft. He soon got past the security under the guise of a tourist.

He soon reached the top, sighing slightly. He had to use the staircase as the elevator was too conspicuous. No one knew that a man was on the top. Of course, it didn't matter. The room that stored the Blue Carbuncle was off limits. It had been sealed with both physical and digital locks. It was impossible to get into the room using the door.

John walked through the corridor, stopping at the balcony. He could see London in its entirety. For a second, he felt insignificant in the vast expanse that lay in front of him. The moment soon passed, and for the first time, John gulped, slightly scared. This was the most difficult part.

He took a deep breath, climbing on to the window sill. Mycroft had arranged a rope to be placed so that he could reach the top of the roof. He caught hold of the rope, adrenaline racing in his blood. John had never felt more alive. He climbed out of the window, trying to not look below him. Every nerve in his body was tingling with electricity, his blood was hot with anticipation. If he slipped, it would be a miracle if someone could identify his face. He reached the top, and John let out a huge sigh of relief. Safe and sound.

Now was the second most difficult part. Waiting until the museum was sealed. On the roof. During a January evening. And, it just started snowing. Good. Tonight was going to be good.

John smiled at the wind. He was going to face something stronger soon.

An East Wind is coming


End file.
